


I Bloom For You

by darkmacadamian



Category: TharnType the Series (TV)
Genre: Affection, Boys In Love, But so is Type so it's okay, Cuddling, Fluff, Like really soft Type, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Soft Type, Tharn is Whipped, Type is secretly a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23449420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmacadamian/pseuds/darkmacadamian
Summary: Tharn had accepted long ago that if he was going to be with Type, he would have to be the one to carry the relationship in terms of blatant physical and emotional affection. He would have to be the one to lace their fingers together, or initiate a hug, or cuddle after- well. You know.Or so he thought.(Or five times where Type is unexpectedly affectionate, and one time where Tharn is too.)
Relationships: Tharn Kirigun/Type (TharnType)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 308





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Don't kill me. I thought this concept was really cute so I decided to try it. :)

Tharn liked to think that he knew a couple of things about Type, especially after he’d been dating him for more than a couple of months.

For one thing, he knew that Type’s favorite color was red, just like his soccer jerseys and his firecracker personality and the blush on his cheeks when he was embarrassed. He knew that Type hated horror and romance movies, and instead preferred high-action sci-fi and fantasy ones like the big nerd he secretly was. He knew that Type was insanely intelligent, with almost perfect marks in all of his classes and an uncanny ability to solve any problem with only a moment of thought.

He knew that Type treasured soccer much more than he let on, and that he treated it like his escape from reality. He knew that Type sometimes still had nightmares about what had happened to him, and he also knew the that the best way to calm Type down from those nightmares was to hug him tightly and refuse to let go. He knew that Type was still very insecure about himself and their relationship, and that he needed constant reassurances and comfort.

For all that  Tharn was sure that he knew about Type, there was one thing he could say that he knew without a doubt: Type wasn’t really an affectionate person. Sure, he would sometimes run his fingers through  Tharn’s hair, or bring him snacks, or give him a soft look, but it was always done with an air of hesitance, like he was unsure about it or only did it for Tharn’s sake. 

It wasn’t something that  Tharn minded- he had accepted long ago that if he was going to be with Type, he would have to be the one to carry the relationship in terms of blatant physical and emotional affection. He would have to be the one to lace their fingers together, or initiate a hug, or cuddle after- well. You know. 

Or so he thought.


	2. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment, even if just to say hi. It makes me feel happy.
> 
> :)

Whenever  Tharn gets home, the first thing that he does is curl up on the couch and groan in exhaustion, closing his eyes for a nap. He knows that his back is going to hate him for it later, and that when Type gets back from soccer practice, he’s going to bitch at him in that cute whiny voice he has for taking up the entire couch, but frankly, Tharn is too tired right now and the bed is too far away for him to even consider moving.

Practice with the band had gone far worse than usual, and he can feel it in the way his wrists and forearms strain as they lay underneath him.

It’s not long after he’s curled his fingers into the couches pillow and started to drool that he wakes up to the sound of the door opening. 

“Type?” he says groggily, but out of his sleep-addled mouth it comes out more like “Tyff?”

“ Shhh . Go back to sleep,” Type hushes him, completely unlike the response that  Tharn had envisioned in his head not even thirty minutes earlier. Nonetheless,  Tharn listens, and drops his head back onto the pillow, recommencing his earlier drooling.

Distantly, he can hear Type removing his cleats and setting his bag down, and then the sound of light footsteps as Type makes his way over to the couch to hover above  Tharn .

Type says something that sounds suspiciously like “cute” before  Tharn feels delicate fingers running through his hair, scratching at his scalp and sending pleasant tingles all the way down his body.

In his half-awake state he can do nothing but purr and shove his head further into Type’s hand, prompting his boyfriend to let out a giggle so cute that  Tharn wishes he was all-the-way awake to appreciate it. 

The fingers left his hair sooner than he liked, but before he could let out so much as a grumble of protest, he’s gently shoved against the back of the couch and Type burrows into the space that he had just been occupying. His boyfriend’s hand curls into his hair again, this time to stay, and then Type nuzzles his face into  Tharn’s chest in a way that feels eerily similar to a feline.

The couch is barely large enough for one person to lay down on, let alone two, but with the way Type has molded himself against Tharn, they somehow manage to fit.

Type smells like grass and sweat, but not in a gross way. It’s musky, yes, but also sweet, and  unmistakably _ Type,  _ so  Tharn allows it and the warmth from his boyfriend’s body to lull him back to sleep.

* * *

When  Tharn wakes up again, it’s later in the evening when there’s no more light streaming in through the windows. He’s got an unusually clingy boyfriend hanging onto him like an octopus, and he takes a moment to wonder,  _ hmm, how did this happen,  _ before he remembers the way that Type had  snuggled into him earlier.

Tharn would like to stay like this forever, because he’s warm and comfortable and Type is  _ never  _ this touchy-feely, not without  Tharn initiating it. He kind of wants to savor it, but he also feels a brief moment of worry that something may have happened to trigger this before his back begins to cramp painfully and he loses all previous train of thought.

“Type,” he whispers, gently trying to wake his boyfriend up. “Type...”

“ Mmmmmm ...” is his only response, and then suddenly Type tightens the arm he has wrapped around  Tharn .

Tharn wheezes.

“Type,” he says again, a little more urgently, “I need to sit up. My back is cramping.”

Type peeks one eye open and looks at  Tharn through his long eyelashes. “Sit up then. Why are you bothering me about it?” His voice is bratty but also soft and sleepy, and it’s so endearing Tharn has half a mind to tuck his boyfriend even closer to his body, but the pain is really starting to become unbearable, so he places one arm around Type and the other one underneath him to push himself up.

He resituates them to where he’s now upright with Type sitting in his lap, his plush thighs on either side of  Tharn’s own, and suddenly  Tharn feels warmer than he did only a second ago, a deep desire rearing up inside his chest that isn’t so innocent as cuddling.

He places his hands high on Type’s thighs, right beneath the plump curve of his ass, but before he can go any further, Type leans back and takes  Tharn’s face between his hands, cradling his jaw gently. He runs his thumb underneath  Tharn’s eye, and  Tharn is taken aback by how utterly  _ tender  _ the action is.

His eyes are half-lidded, a flush high on his cheekbones and his mouth pouty from sleepiness. He’s beautiful like this,  Tharn thinks, and just as he leans in to kiss the pout from his boyfriend’s lips, his head is being pushed gently back.

“You’re so horny, all the time,” Type scolds, and it’s not like  Tharn hasn’t heard this before, because it’s  _ true,  _ but in his defense, so is Type, even if he pretends like he’s not sometimes, “but I really just want you to hold my hand right now.”

And all  Tharn can do is let his mouth drop open in shock, because in all the months they had been together, Type had never,  _ never,  _ said something that needy. 

Apparently Type has no intention on waiting for his idiot boyfriend’s brain to catch up to the situation, because he places his hands over the ones plastered onto his legs and intertwines their fingers, and then brings their clasped hands to rest between their chests.

And then, like Type hasn’t already given him enough heart attacks to last him a lifetime, he kisses his cheek softly and then nuzzles his face into the curve of  Tharn’s shoulder, mouthing lightly at the exposed skin he finds there like it’s a pacifier, until he slowly soothes himself back to sleep.

Tharn is still reeling in shock from what just happened, and feels an overwhelming urge to wake the source of his shock up and ask about it, but nonetheless he stays still and allows Type to rest like the dutiful boyfriend he is.

He rests his face in Type’s hair, allowing the familiarity of the scent to relax him. There’s always later, he decides.


	3. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, gang. Update here. Thank you to everyone who commented, I really appreciate it :)

Apparently there actually isn’t such a thing as later, because by the next day  Tharn had already forgotten to ask Type about what had happened, and then one day turned into two, and then two days turned into a week, until eventually  Tharn forgot about it altogether.

Type hadn’t done anything as affectionate as that since then, anyway, so there really wasn’t any reason for  Tharn to remember.

That is, until one day, when  Tharn and Type are walking down the sidewalk, hands intertwined, animatedly discussing whether or not they should adopt a dog or a cat into their happy little family, they bump into a group of  Tharn’s old acquaintances.  Tharn is familiar enough with them to remember their names (Kay, Grit, and Perm) but not familiar enough with them to accept immediately when they invite him out for drinks.

He does kind of want to go though, just so they can all catch up, so he looks to Type to see what his boyfriend’s opinion is on all of this. To his surprise, he’s already nodding his head and motioning for  Tharn to go with them.

“Go ahead. I’ll see you later, when you get home.”

“Are you sure?”  Tharn asks, just to make sure, and at Type’s affirmation he allows a smirk to grace his face.

“You’re becoming less jealous,” he whispers, and watches in delight as a bright blush immediately spreads across  Type’s face.

“Who’s jealous?” he snaps, lightly hitting  Tharn’s chest, but  Tharn can tell his heart isn’t really in it.

Blatantly ignoring the three men standing right next to them,  Tharn cups Type’s chin in his hand, making sure to brush the silver ring on his finger along his jaw because he knows it drives him crazy, and  gently  plants a kiss on his boyfriend’s plush lips.

Type’s blush becomes darker, if possible, at the display of public affection. “I love you~”  Tharn coos.

“I hate you, asshole,” Type hisses in response, before stomping away, the sound of  Tharn’s bright laughter following closely  behind .

* * *

Hindsight is always 20/20,  Tharn remembers, as he decides it probably wasn’t the best idea to go out drinking with the three men whom he had conveniently forgotten were  _ party animals.  _ They had a significant talent for getting anyone who came near them and a bottle of vodka blackout drunk, so they didn’t really do much catching up that night.

Instead, they did shots. And a lot of them.

So here  Tharn is, standing pathetically in front of his apartment door at 1 in the morning, embarrassingly drunk and unable to get the key in the door because his hands are that unsteady.

Just as he is about to give up and knock, knowing it would wake up a very angry and volatile Type, judging by the texts he had received about an hour ago, the door swings open to reveal, you guessed it,  _ a very angry and volatile Type.  _

Type’s eyes rove over his figure in a calculated manner, taking in every detail, from his rumpled hair, to his alcohol-stained clothes, to his pathetic, puppy-dog eyes.

He  purses his lips and lets out a single, disappointed, “Hmmm...” before grabbing  Tharn by the collar of his shirt and dragging him inside, stumbling limbs and all.

Tharn fully expects Type to leave him on the couch, since that was pretty much what he deserves, after a night of no texts or calls to reassure his boyfriend that he was alive, but instead Type drags him to their bedroom and sits him down on the bed.

“I’m sorry?”  Tharn tries, his words slurred and his throat scratchy from the sting of the alcohol.

“ _ Hmmm...”  _ comes his response, distinctly more pointed and aggravated then it had been earlier.  Tharn takes this as his cue to shut up.

Type drops to his knees and begins pulling at the laces of  Tharn’s shoes, taking them off and moving to his pants, until he’s stripped of every item of clothing except for his boxers.

“Stay here,” Type orders, before heading towards the bathroom.  Tharn hears the sound of a cabinet opening and the sink turning on before his boyfriend returns with a wet cloth in hand. 

He approaches  Tharn and begins wiping his chest, where excess alcohol had leaked onto his skin after being spilt onto the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He’d probably have to throw that t-shirt away, he thinks regretfully, before refocusing on the man before him.

Type has deep circles underneath his eyes,  _ probably from staying up waiting for me,  _ Tharn thinks guiltily, and the corners of his mouth are downturned in worry and displeasure.  Tharn hates that that expression is on his face, hates that he’s the one that put it there even more, but he knows that there’s nothing he can do about it now.

He’s also not looking at  Tharn , avoiding his gaze while he wipes down his abdomen. He then takes the cloth and rubs it gently against  Tharn’s face, but even then, his eyes are unfocused and staring somewhere on the wall behind them.

“Type-” he says, but Type is already turning away and heading towards the bedroom door again.

“You must be dehydrated. I’ll go get you something to drink. Do you feel sick?”

“...No.”

Type nods his head in acknowledgement, before briefly leaving and then returning with a glass of water and a bottle of pills. He sets the bottle down on the bedside table, and then with one hand he cups the back of  Tharn’s head while slowly bringing the glass to his lips with the other.

“Drink.”

And  Tharn can do nothing but listen, as he greedily gulps down the cool liquid. It’s soothing, and it eases the burning in his throat and quenches the acute thirst he’s had since he got home. 

Once  Tharn finishes drinking the water, Type sets the empty glass down, right next to the pills. He’s motionless for a moment, as if he’s unsure of what to do next. The silence is suffocating, but  Tharn knows Type won’t speak if forced, so he wrings his fingers into the bedsheets and waits anxiously.

“You worried me,” he says suddenly, and  Tharn almost jumps off of the bed in shock and tries to scramble for a reply.

“I know, I’m sorry. I should’ve texted, but I didn’t think I would get home so late, and by the time I realized how late it actually was, I figured you’d already gone to sleep, and-”  Tharn knows he’s rambling, but he’s trying to prepare for the inevitable argument that always happens when something like this happens with Type. One second, he’ll be cool and collected and within the next he’ll explode like the firecracker he is, because he still hasn’t learned how to properly show his concern like a normal human being, but before he can get another word out, Type interrupts him,

“I know,” he says, his voice soft, “It’s okay. Just try to remember to text me next time.”

And just like that’s the end of it, he turns the bedside lamp off and curls up on the bed, underneath the covers, and drags Tharn underneath with him.

Dumbfounded and now cuddling with a distinctly less-angry-than-he-predicted boyfriend, Tharn asks, “Is that it?”

In the dim light,  Tharn can barely see  Type wrinkle is his nose. “What do you mean, ‘Is that it?’ Do you want me to yell at you?”

“No, no. Really, it’s okay. I just thought you’d be a little  angrier , is all.”

“What am I, your mother? Go to sleep. And take some pills tomorrow, when you wake up, so you don’t have a headache.”

Tharn smirks and finally allows himself to pull Type closer. “Yes, mother,” he mocks.

“Hmmm,” is all he hears, before Type finally fades away into sleep.

_ Unusual,  _ he thinks.


End file.
